


F.A.B.U.L.O.U.S. – Nick Fury’s Drag Race

by Jaune_Chat



Series: F.A.B.U.L.O.U.S. [4]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Clint Barton is a brat, Fashion & Couture, Gen, Genderswap, Humor, Nick Fury is Not Amused, tony stark has no shame
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-18
Updated: 2016-11-18
Packaged: 2018-08-31 17:37:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8587696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaune_Chat/pseuds/Jaune_Chat
Summary: The Avengers suffer a rather embarrassing attack.  And F.A.B.U.L.O.U.S. has to save their dignity, no matter the cost to their own!





	

**Author's Note:**

> Technically not drag, but the title was too appropriate to pass up!

“Harold, what the hell are these specs?”

Harold peeped out from behind the heavy-gauge armor-weave loom with a hurt expression on his face.

“Just what the Director sent down. I just bounced them over to you because they were new agent formats,” he said, wrinkling his nose to push his glasses back up.

Grace sighed and waved back in a bit of an apology. Yes, she got the new agent files because she did a lot of the initial design work, but this was clearly some kind of elaborate joke. “Okay, okay, but I think this is April Fool’s Day way too early.”

Grace flipped her screen around to show the opened files, along with the so-important agent photographs and body scans necessary to get the uniform design process kick-started without having to have the agent there for several fittings. It was a necessity when the person going to be filling out said uniform was globe-trotting and ass-kicking evil on any given day. Plenty of times F.A.B.U.L.O.U.S. had worked off of measurements and holograms just so they could express mail-order someone a uniform in the field.

Harold squinted at the picture, blushed a little, then a lot, then his jaw dropped open. Jay’s head appeared above Harold’s; his nose for fashion challenges being second to none. Vera looked up from her own tricky stitching of reinforced gauntlets, eyes widening as she took in the very fascinating sight.

“Can I be crass?” Vera asked.

“Crass away!” Jay said, after two false starts.

“Is that a scan of Tony Stark with tits?”

Grace nodded tightly.

“And Thor?”

Another nod.

“And Agent Romanov with a-.”

“We’re done with being crass now,” Grace declared, and Vera shook her head.

“So, we’re bouncing that back up to whoever sent that to us with extreme prejudice, right?”

“Right!” Grace said, and stabbed the appropriate key on her keyboard.

 _“What part of ‘priority one’ was in any way unclear?”_ a voice boomed around the workshop.

All four designers yelped when Nick Fury’s face filled the entire wall-sized screen, one eye glaring, both eyebrows on maximum intimidate.

“The- the- hilarious genderswap scan part of the files?” Grace squeaked out.

Director Fury’s hand came up to briefly massage his temples.

“I’d find it a lot more hilarious if it wasn’t true. Uniforms. Armor. Now. I am not sending the Avengers out in the field naked.”

Director Fury’s face was a no-nonsense mask of, “Do you think I would waste my time messing with you?” Grace gulped and nodded her acquiescence without further comment.

“Did someone hit the Avengers with a sex-change ray?” Harold asked, apparently missing some of the heat of the Director’s death glare.

“You,” Director Fury pointed a finger at Harold, “do not speak to me again. The rest of you, back to work.”

The screen went blank, and F.A.B.U.L.O.U.S. was silent for almost fifteen full seconds before shock evaporated and Challenge Mode descended.

Vera said, “Flexy Flex-Weave? The boys are going to have a lot of trouble with the new endowments otherwise.” Vera unrolled her bundle of scissors, tapes, and tools with all the flourish of a chef, and selected a pair of shears, looking down the blades for flaws.

“Right,” Grace said, shaking her head. She pulled out her stylus and turned to her tablet, stabbing Harold and Jay with a pointed look.

“Firing up all the armor looms!” Harold said promptly.

“Fabricator on full!” Jay said, and soon the workshop was full of the whirring sounds of machines, taps of the stylus, and snip-snaps of the shears.

\---

“I assure you, ma’am, that Mr. Stark will be taking care of the fabrication of the new Iron Man armor himself, but I do believe he needs your stylistic input,” J.A.R.V.I.S. was explaining to Grace, holographs of the new Iron Man armor floating in the middle of the room. Jay had a horrified expression on his face as he looked at something that might have come out of a sexbot fetish site. To each his own, but this was just… no.

“I think Mr. Stark has a very exaggerated idea of what his current extra X chromosome has done for him,” Grace said, her teeth tightly jammed together.

“I couldn’t agree more, Ms. Rothschild,” J.A.R.V.I.S. said with sincerity.

“Yeah, and no one told him his facial hair didn’t spontaneously vanish either,” Jay muttered.

“I believe Mr. Stark said he was going to try to, and I quote, ‘rock it.’ Ms. Potts decided to let him take the consequences for his own actions.”

“So now we have to?” Jay asked plaintively.

“I co-pilot the Iron Man suit, and I simply will not power up the armor with it looking like that,” J.A.R.V.I.S. said, sounding positively fierce.

“ _Thank_ you,” Grace said, and turned a new design towards Jay, and heaved a sigh of relief and gave her a thumbs-up.

\--

“Why do I have to forge?” Harold said, squinting into the furnace through the protective door.

“Because somebody has been on a new workout regimen even since that cute new agent from Toronto came down here for a bulletproof vest and thigh holster,” Vera said. “If you’re going to play Arms McGee, then you also get to play blacksmith.”

“At least this is going to be right,” Harold said, self-consciously rubbing at his arms through their leather protective wear. “Because I don’t care what bad fantasy movie Agent Barton was watching when he sketched out that design for Thor, boob-armor is not coming out of this workshop!”

Vera gave him a fist-bump of solidarity and got ready with the tongs.

\--

“I’m very certain this will work, Agent Romanov,” Grace said over Skype, holding up the new set of compression underwear to the camera.

“That was fast,” she commented, her smirk undiminished on her stronger jawline.

Grace sighed. “I’ve done this before. I know way, _way_ too much about the measurements of your co-workers’…”

“Parts,” Agent Romanov supplied quickly, lips twitching. “Don’t worry, we’re all laughing over here so we don’t cry. There’s a reversal for all of this in the works, but apparently it isn’t a short-order thing. Also, things being how they are, I wouldn’t put a repeat of this in the future as out of the question.”

Grace did not whimper. Well, at least she tried. “So, not just your armor?”

“Full wardrobe, Grace,” Agent Romanov said, not without sympathy.

“Don’t tell me the boys want dresses.”

“Everyone else, no. But Tony…”

Everyone looked over at Grace as she screeched her frustration to the heavens. Jay moved her coffee closer, then skittered to the other end of the workshop.

\--

“At least the Hulk’s is easy,” Vera said, setting the fabricator for another length of flex-weave tartan.

“Well, except you have to make a Hulk-bra,” Harold pointed out.

“No, I’ve already called dibs on the kilt. _You_ have to make a Hulk-bra,” Vera said.

Harold tried the biggest puppy dog eyes he could muster.

Vera put on a pair of sunglasses to signal her complete immunity.

Harold reached for the Hulk’s new specs after pausing to head-desk for two minutes straight.

\--

“Why is Captain Rogers’ new uniform have… chest flaps?” Grace said, squinting at the red-white-and-blue torso armor specs with a reddened face.

“Oh my God, I thought I got rid of those,” Vera said, lunging over to the computer to find the correct file. “Agent Barton has been flooding my inbox with alternative suggestions all day.”

“At least someone’s having fun.”

By the expression on Grace’s face, Vera had never heard the word “fun” also equal the kind of emotion normally reserved for chewing on several lemons with a tongue full of papercuts.

\--

“We can have our _revenge!_ ” Jay announced suddenly, with a cackle like a mad scientist.

Heads popped up all over the workshop, where the members of F.A.B.U.L.O.U.S., all more than somewhat frazzled by the new project, hadn’t left their workstations in three days.

“All those really bad design ideas? Nearly all of which Agent Barton sent down-.”

“Barring Mr. Stark’s,” Vera corrected.

“Thank Tim Gunn for J.A.R.V.I.S.,” Grace muttered.

“But now it’s _his_ turn!” Jay turned over a hologram, showing a hologram of Agent Barton’s new measurements. Everyone stared at it for a moment, then began to smile wickedly.

“Oh dear, it looks like Agent Barton’s family tree tends towards the well-endowed end of the gene pool,” Vera said, far too cheerfully.

“Hmm, looks like we’re going to have to make sure his new armor fits appropriately,” Harold said.

“Just like we’ve done for every other breast-wielding member of S.H.I.E.L.D.,” Grace said, grinning.

“I mean, I know it takes a little getting used to, but the first few days of compression armor is quite the adjustment,” Jay said, with a slightly vindictive gleam in his eyes. 

“And doubly so if you’ve never even worn a bra before. Oh, let us _do_ make sure that gets sent up first,” Vera said, and all four turned towards the armor loom with intent and purpose.

\--

A day after the new wardrobes had been delivered, F.A.B.U.L.O.U.S. received a nice bunch of thank-you notes from the Avengers.

Also a groveling apology note, sealed with an arrowhead. _Boobs are not for the weak!_

A few hours later, pizza showed up unbidden for lunch, under the Director’s seal.

 _Everyone else voted for you to win the departmental pizza party. And I haven’t laughed like that for a long time._ ~Nick Fury


End file.
